The Right to Serve
by McStories
Summary: A Marine appears to have been murdered simply for being gay. When the victim is linked to a member of his team Gibbs is forced to tackle Don't Ask Don't Tell head-on, and it leads him somewhere he never thought he'd go. Eventual Gibbs/Tony/McGee slash.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the start of my second NCIS story ever. The first is still in progress, so this is going up as a...preview, I guess, until number one is done. :-) _

_This will be slash. Pairings will be, in various stages: Tony/Gibbs, mentioned McGee/OMC (OC-haters, don't worry - he's dead), and eventual Gibbs/Tony/McGee. I've never written a threesome before, but it works so well in my head, I just gotta get it out properly._

_Anyway! Here it is, let me know what you think. :-) _

* * *

The sun wasn't high enough in the morning sky to reflect off the glass face of the building as Gibbs tilted his head back to squint upwards.

He heard Tony's impressed whistle but ignored it. DC-area apartments were overpriced as it was. A place like this – all glass and architecture and delicate-looking angles – had to cost more than Gibbs' mortgage payments.

Adding to the sheer appearance of it was a doorman in the front of the building, wearing a cap and jacket, for Christ's sake. A parking garage around the side of the building would probably be full of BMWs and Mercedes.

The place smelled like money, of course Tony was impressed.

Gibbs, though. His mind was on the little information he'd gotten on the initial call.

When he showed up somewhere to investigate a dead Marine, he didn't expect to show up at a spread like this. Already his instincts were flaring, telling him to pay attention. This early in the morning, a building like this...

Nothing easy waited for him inside.

He dragged his eyes down the face of the building, sighing to himself. "David and McGee?"

Tony was right on his heels as he started for the front door. "Ziva's meeting us here. I told her to pick up coffee."

Gibbs waited about two seconds. "And?"

"And." Tony grinned, walking fast to keep up with Gibbs' strides. "Donuts?"

Gibbs looked sideways at him. "McGee," he said, though thanks to Tony's obfuscating he already knew what the answer was.

Tony hesitated, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'm just gonna try him again. You know it's early, boss. Not work hours yet. Poor kid was probably up half the night raiding castles or dungeoning dragons. Or...dragoning dungeons? I really have no idea how that works."

Gibbs frowned to himself and passed the doorman without a word, leaving Tony to flash his badge at the guy. For a moment he almost pitied McGee – he was in for a long, hard day. There were rules Gibbs was flexible about and rules he wasn't. Out-of-contact was one of the inflexible no-nos. Working hours or not, the least an NCIS agent had to be was available.

He forgot about McGee when he spotted a man approaching across the high-ceilinged entryway into the building. Some apartments opened on a narrow hall, a row of anonymous metal mailboxes. Not this place – this place had a whole damned lobby, complete with anxious-looking guy in a suit and tie behind a concierge-type desk.

The guy approaching Gibbs wore slacks and an anonymous blue button-up shirt, but he had cop written on him even without the badge shining on his hip.

Young guy, couldn't have been long out of a patrol uniform. And he had a big grin on his face, like something about a dead Marine was funny.

He stuck his hand out before he was within reach of Gibbs. "You must be NCIS. Detective Jack Person. I called in to the Navy Yard."

"Detective Person." Gibbs didn't need long to read people: he did not like this guy.

"Detective _Person_?" Tony, catching up, reached out and shook the guy's still-outstretched hand. "Special Agent DiNozzo, this is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Must be a fun name to be stuck with."

Person's eyes went to Tony instantly, drawn to that _amiable_ thing Tony did that Gibbs never bothered with. He shook Tony's hand. "I got used to the jokes before I turned ten, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony peeled off his latest pair of overpriced sunglasses and grinned at the officer. "I can't even imagine what sort of 'person' jokes a ten year old would--"

Gibbs turned to him. "You done?"

Tony's mouth clamped shut fast. His eyes were still grinning as he nodded. "All done, boss."

Gibbs turned back to Person. "Where's our Marine?"

"Seventh floor. I'll take you up."

The elevators were mirror-lined with cushioned bars on the walls about waist high. Dim lighting in recessed yellow strips along the walls. No music playing, which was the one quality about the thing that Gibbs actually approved of, besides it moving up and down and therefore serving its actual function.

He didn't understand money. He really didn't.

"You want to fill us in?" he asked the detective fidgeting in the elevator beside him.

"Call came in about three hours ago," Person started.

Gibbs turned on him instantly. "Three hours ago you found a murder scene with a dead Marine, and I just got a call twenty minutes ago?"

"We got to the scene a little late." Person was barely muffling his smirk. "We called you as soon as we knew what we had on our hands. Trust me, Agent Gibbs, nobody's going to fight you for jurisdiction on this one."

Damn it. If Gibbs hated one thing, it was a clown. Tony pushed his buttons enough as it was, but Tony knew when to stop with the leading statements and innuendos and just give a report. This guy Person was talking like he was leading up to something good but wanted to be begged for details.

Which, really, just made Gibbs' hand twitch to make a fist. "Who called it in?"

Person's eyes widened, some overwrought attempt at innocence. "Your Marine's...hell, what do I even call him? 'Partner' would be the word if this was Will and Grace."

Gibbs regarded him, feeling his expression cooling fast. "Excuse me?"

Person's grin wavered. "You know, that show? Will and Grace?"

"Yeah, don't bother." Tony clapped Person on the shoulder, but he wasn't smiling anymore and the clap seemed a little too forceful. "Skip the pop culture references and answer the question, huh?"

"Fine," Person said, twisting his shoulder out of Tony's grasp and looking like he was starting to realize that NCIS was not his target audience. "The dead guy's _boy_friend called it in."

Gibbs' mouth thinned.

"I know, surprised the hell out of us, too. You expect that kind of thing with the Navy, maybe Air Force. But Marines? Aren't they supposed to be the real men?"

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Is this homicide, detective? Accident? Too soon to tell?" Tony spoke fast and a little too loud. His eyes were on Gibbs, wide.

Gibbs must have been too close to making that fist. He didn't relax, though – he had no reason to want to make nice with this prick detective.

"Oh yeah, homicide no doubt. This guy died _hard_." Person smirked all over again. "Maybe some gang-bang gone bad."

"Why don't you just skip the editorial comments and stick to the facts?" Tony's eyes flickered from the cop to Gibbs, nervous.

Gibbs didn't take his eyes off Person long enough to pick up on why he was nervous.

The cop smirked at Tony, but then his gaze wandered to Gibbs. For some reason he seemed to realize why Tony was urging him on and not sharing in the joke.

Gibbs couldn't imagine why - he was just standing there. Looking at the guy.

"Okay, right. According to your Marine's little boyfriend," here Person's smirk curled into a grimace, "they went to bed safe and sound the night before. Didn't hear anything, didn't see anything. Woke up this morning to an empty bed, found loverboy in the living room."

The elevator doors opened. Person all but jumped out when Gibbs took a step towards him.

Tony hurriedly put himself between the two of them, shooting Gibbs a look that might have been a warning if Gibbs wasn't Gibbs and Tony was in any position to give warning looks.

There were uniformed officers milling outside a door at the end of the corridor. Gibbs made his way to that door without a pause.

Person followed, speaking fast when he realized his unimpressed audience was leaving him behind. "You ask me, the boyfriend's full of shit."

"Didn't ask you," Gibbs muttered to himself, nodding at the cops outside the door before moving inside.

The apartment opened into a small white-tiled foyer. That close to the door Gibbs could already see spots and streaks of red over the tile and the thick carpet beyond.

An open-aired kitchen to the right, to the left a rounded staircase leading up to what looked like a small loft area. Hell, the place probably had as much square footage as Gibbs' house. What happened to apartments that were nothing but big boxes with a bathroom?

There was a dining room beyond the kitchen that obviously wasn't used for dining - a solid-looking desktop computer was set up on the table, with a web of cords and plug-in devices arranged around it. Intricate-looking setup, though Gibbs didn't know what the hell any of it was.

Past that was the living room. More deep white carpeting, arched ceilings, but the couch and chairs in the living room were slightly worn, comfortable-looking. There was a flatscreen on the wall – undisturbed, Gibbs noted, like most of the room. This wasn't a robbery.

It was a murder.

Their Marine was towards the back, half-hiked up against a glass door that led out to a wide balcony. There was red smeared down the glass behind the body, red pooled on the carpet. Red flung over the walls, even dotting the ceiling in a couple of places that Gibbs could see.

"See what I mean? No way his nancy girlfriend slept through something like this. You want a suspect, he's your number one."

Gibbs looked back at the cop. "I give you some indication I need you to do my job for me?"

Person hesitated. "No. Uh, no sir."

Gibbs moved into the room, dismissing the asshole LEO to take in the crime scene. He was careful where he walked – the spatter wasn't tagged yet, and he didn't envy his team the job.

The victim was a black male. Mid-thirties at most, head shaved so close he could've been fresh from boot camp. But he was no recent recruit. Dressed only in boxers and blood, the markings of at least two Corps tats showed on the dark brown skin of his chest and arm.

The unnatural bend of his head showed the deep slit carved across his throat. Under the blood Gibbs could spot at least three other jagged gashes sliced into his chest.

This guy really did die hard. A Marine, young, in good shape. Strong. It would have taken a hell of a lot to bring him down.

Gibbs crouched as close to the body as he could get without stepping in evidence. He noted telltale white lines of scar tissue up and down the Marine's leg, bad around his knee. More scar tissue over his chest, familiar round patterns marred by surgery cuts.

This guy had seen some serious action.

Gibbs straightened and looked around, wondering...

Then he spotted it, on the wall near the plasma TV.

Tony faced Person as Gibbs moved past them. "Got a name for us?"

"Nathan Bryar, according to his little girlfriend. The building manager's coming in to confirm - he should be here any minute."

"Where's the witness?" Gibbs asked, his eyes not moving from the frame he had spotted on the wall.

"Crying her little eyes out in the bedroom. Don't worry, my guys are keeping an eye on him."

And then Person made a critical error. He approached Gibbs to see what he was looking at.

"What you got, Agent Gibbs? Picture? No...what the hell is that? They framed a piece of _paper_? I thought fags were supposed to be all Martha Stewart and shit."

Gibbs just barely from the corner of his eye caught sight of Tony's head snapping over.

_Too late, DiNozzo, _was the last clear thought that filtered through his head before he found himself with two fists full of Detective Person's button-down shirt.

Person hit the wall with a satisfying _oomph_,and Gibbs was in his face before any of the uniformed cops hovering in the doorway even realized what was going on.

"What the fuck is your problem, Agent--"

"'They were on the last night of a long-term reconnaissance patrol when his squad came under a fierce enemy attack, instantly killing his point man and wounding five out of the eight Marines, including Lieutenant Bryar.'"

"What?" Person scowled at him.

Gibbs reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, jerking his face to stare at the frame on the wall. He kept reading, his voice steel. "'Painfully wounded and with complete disregard for his own safety, he moved to the front of his patrol, aiding the injured Marines and directing fire into the enemy. Under intense enemy fire, he personally carried two wounded Marines back to friendly lines.'"

Movement by the door nearly stole his focus, but as a couple of the uniformed officers came in to check things out, Tony's long, dark coat slipped between them and Gibbs, giving his boss space to work.

"Nothing to worry about, fellas. Just a quick lesson in manners."

Gibbs smiled, though it came out fierce. He pushed Person's face against the wall by the frame. "'Only after ensuring that the wounded Marines were being treated did he accept medical aid. Lieutenant Bryar then immediately returned to the landing zone, where he routinely exposed himself to enemy fire to ensure all members of his platoon were extracted.'"

Person had stopped struggling by then, glaring at Gibbs from against the wall.

"That piece of paper is called a _citation_, Person." Gibbs stepped back, only giving him enough space to straighten before he gripped Person's neck again and aimed him at the body of the dead Marine. "You're in the presence of a recipient of the Navy Cross."

He came in close, voice soft in Person's ear. "I don't care if this Marine was sleeping with a woman, a man, a farm animal or a piece of fruit. You will show him the respect he's earned or you will get the hell out of his home."

Person twisted out of his grasp. Red-faced, he looked from Gibbs to the framed citation, and then away from all of them.

Gibbs pointed towards the front door. "You're finished here. Our jurisdiction, our crime scene. Get the rest of your men and go. Now."

Person looked to the door, where at least four uniformed cops stood watching him get his ass reamed. He turned back at Gibbs, sucking in a breath as if he'd found some balls somewhere.

Gibbs looked at him. "You don't have permission to speak, Detective."

Person flushed darkly. His mouth opened, formed words.

Gibbs' voice dropped low. "Think I'm kidding?"

Person could only meet his eyes for a few seconds.

Gibbs didn't look away from his averted face. "Tony. The witness is back in the bedroom. Go dismiss the officers who are 'keeping their eyes on him'. Get a statement."

"On it, boss." But of course Tony didn't move.

Person's shoulders were hunched as he moved around Gibbs and brushed past Tony to get to the door.

Only when the door was cleared of officers did Tony look over his shoulder, meeting Gibbs eyes. He didn't grin, didn't give his boss the way-to-go look that might have otherwise accompanied Gibbs chewing out anyone who wasn't Tony.

He looked solemn, which was odd for Tony even at a crime scene. Maybe he picked up on Gibbs' mood.

Or maybe he realized the same things Gibbs did: Person said the call came in three hours ago, and Gibbs had been called as soon as they knew what was happening, which was half an hour ago at most. No detectives took two hours getting to a crime scene, and it sure didn't take an hour to notice that the body belonged to a Marine.

Which meant that when patrol officers showed up and found a dead man and his _boy_friend, they took their fucking time making the call for detectives. And the detectives took their fucking time showing up.

Gibbs had never been a cop, but he knew full well how any law enforcement officer could bring their prejudices on the job with them. It was an ugly, flawed thing to see in people who were supposed to serve and protect.

Sighing to himself, trying to release some of his anger, Gibbs nodded Tony towards the bedroom and turned back to their dead Marine.

The man lying in his own blood in that apartment was the rare kind of man who enlisted to serve his country. More than that, he was the kind of man who stood strong when the bullets were flying, who earned the second highest honor a Marine could earn, who had scars and a knee that probably never worked right again.

A soldier who took on a life sentence of pain and disability to keep his men alive.

There was a small bookshelf against the side wall, and a dark box sitting closed on top of it. That would be the medal. The Navy Cross, maybe a Purple Heart.

Gibbs was called a cynical bastard way too often, but he knew there were heroes in the world. This guy was one of them. And some smirking shithead was going to _sneer_ at him? Call him names and half-ass a murder investigation because he didn't approve of Bryar's bedmate?

Gibbs couldn't have given a shit if Bryar was gay. Hell, he didn't really much care that Person was homophobic. If Person had been making cracks about Bryar's race...hell, if he just generally kept on being a smirking asshole in Bryar's presence, Gibbs would have reacted the same.

Bryar deserved better. He _earned_ better, damn it.

"Um. Boss."

He looked up from his solemn contemplation of Bryar's body.

Tony stood in the doorway to the bedroom. He held his notebook clenched and forgotten in his fist. He was oddly pale.

"I...uh. I think I need you in here."

Gibbs straightened. "It's a witness statement, DiNozzo, not--"

"Gibbs. I really think you need to come in here."

Annoyance bubbled up in Gibbs, close to the surface after dealing with Person. But Tony was too serious, and there was a strange surprise in his eyes that made Gibbs hesitate to bark at him. He glanced back at Bryar, at the citation on the wall.

"What's the problem?" He approached even as he asked, moving past Tony's too-still form and into the bedroom.

A man sat on a large, messy bed, hunched and seemingly holding his breath, waiting.

First thing Gibbs noticed was the blood. It was drying to a cracked brown on the guy's hands, and there was a smeared, browning stain on the front of his t-shirt. Not enough, not the right patterns. Detective Person was, unsurprisingly, wrong. Whether he slept through it or not, this guy was definitely not in that front room when the blood was flying everywhere.

That was the first thing Gibbs noticed.

The second thing he noticed was that the stained t-shirt had the letters MIT across the front.

And then he noticed about a thousand other things, piling one on top of the other in double-time: the guy's familiar posture, the overly-complicated computer he'd seen out in the living room, a holstered gun laying in the open on a table by the large bed. A crowded bookcase under a large bay window that held thick, colorless textbooks that only someone who actually liked school would have kept.

Familiar posture, familiar shirt, familiar hair. Familiar guy.

Gibbs wasn't the sort of man who got stuck on things. He observed and then reacted, quick as instinct. But though his mouth opened to speak almost at once, the words lodged in his throat and he was damned well stuck.

Then he noticed a picture on that bookshelf, a Marine unit posing with grins on their faces and arms slung around each others' shoulders, like a million other units before them. He remembered Bryar, and he wasn't stuck anymore.

"McGee?"

Green eyes rose, stopped halfway towards Gibbs, and then fell again helplessly. Drying blood cracked as McGee's hands clenched on his lap.

For a case that was complicated enough two minutes ago when it was just a gay Marine slaughtered in his overpriced living room, this was one added complication too many.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Here I am, just short of one year after posting chapter one to this story. I am constantly amazed by how often I check my email and see someone has favorited or alerted or reviewed it. One chapter of one story, among the whole huge archive of NCIS stuff on this site, but people keep responding to it. I've got almost 80 reviews. 80. Of one chapter. I'm lucky if I get 80 reviews for whole sagas I write._

_I'm pretty in awe of that, and a little bit nervous about it. Like if I pick it back up it'll let all those people down. I went to a new fandom, got a bunch of other character stuck in my head. I've got no idea if I can do this thing justice anymore. _

_But I did adore this story, and all the plans I had for it. I can't let it die. So I may be a little slow, a little rusty, jumping back in like this. This is a short chapter mostly to get myself back into the groove or else crash and burn hideously. _

_All of which I'm telling you guys just so you'll get a sense of why I'm suddenly posting chapter two of this thing. I didn't intend to start off sounding like a pretentious dickbag, but I think I do, so I'm shutting up now. _

* * *

Suspect.

Witness.

McGee.

Those three words seemed to loop around themselves in Gibbs' head in the precious few moments after he discovered who lived in that apartment with their latest dead Marine.

Suspect. Witness. McGee.

They were all three important to note. The investigator in Gibbs wanted to hold on to the first two, to not lose sight of the murder, the dead body, the Navy Cross. As an investigator there were steps that had to be taken. Questions that needed asking, a statement to take, an alibi (or motive) to establish, and a list of potential other suspects to begin.

Witness. Possible suspect. The man in that bedroom was the only other person found in an apartment where a man was brutally, over-zealously murdered.

He was also...or he seemed to be...or the cops thought he was...

Lover. Boyfriend. Victim's significant other, and that was always the first person investigated. They always had to look at the first person on the scene, and the closest person to the victim. And if Person and his asshole jokes were even a little accurate, McGee was both of those things.

Suspect, had to be questioned. Witness, had to give a statement.

The investigator in Gibbs knew that McGee had to be sequestered in a room somewhere, questioned for the smallest of details while they were fresh on his mind.

But he didn't move, didn't act on that knowledge, for those first few valuable moments standing in that bedroom gaping at his agent.

His eyes stuck on the blood-stained MIT lettering on that worn t-shirt, the shaking hands, the bent head. The tension that practically rolled off McGee as he sat on that bed, braced. Ready for an explosion, or a knife in the back.

Gibbs took the Investigator side of himself deadly seriously. But it wasn't the only side of him there was. He looked at that worn t-shirt, and the Marine won out over the Investigator.

Never leave a man behind. There's no case so important that one of his own has to be sacrificed.

Witness, suspect. Both true, but both failed to overshadow the third: McGee. His McGee, his guy. His kid on his team.

Gibbs moved to the bed, looking down at that bent sandy hair. "Hey."

McGee just tensed that much more. His hands were limp in his lap, half-uncurled fists stained with the brown of dried blood.

Gibbs frowned and dropped to a crouch in front of the bed. He tapped McGee's knee with his knuckle. "Hey. McGee."

McGee looked then, tilting his head up only enough to catch Gibbs' eyes.

Gibbs didn't beat on witnesses when they were distraught – he was only a hardass with the guilty. He met McGee's dazed, horrified gaze and he searched him the same way he would have any other time he came across one of his guys bloody and scared.

"You okay? You get hurt?"

McGee hesitated. He looked down at himself, fisting his fingers and wincing at the pull of the dried blood on his skin.

It was strange, and painful, seeing that wordy, innocent kid lost for response.

No, he wasn't okay. For a couple of very good reasons, McGee wasn't okay. But he wasn't hurt, or he would have said as much as the easy answer to Gibbs' question.

Gibbs leaned back, looking around until he spotted Tony hovering around the doorway. "Find David. Get Duck over here. This place has been sitting too long as it is, we need to get to work."

Tony stood there, eyebrows raised high. He nodded his chin back at McGee in an uncharacteristically graceless way, questions in his eyes.

Gibbs looked back at him, expressionless. "Were my orders confusing?"

Tony frowned. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Looked at McGee, then back at Gibbs.

He turned, not answering, and went out the door to the bedroom, tugging his cell from his pants.

Gibbs sighed and turned his focus back on McGee. "Okay, you know the details we need at this point. Got anything you can tell me that'll help?"

McGee looked up, but his gaze went past Gibbs to the now-empty doorway. He looked at the place where Tony had been. His throat worked, and his hands uncurled against.

"No," he said, hoarse and quiet like the rasp of dead leaves. "I didn't hear anything. I didn't see..." He swallowed. "I came out this morning, and Nate was..."

"Yeah." Gibbs sighed and straightened up. Tony's voice was a murmur from the other room – Ducky would be there soon. Work had to begin. He had to let the Investigator take over.

McGee, witness, suspect.

No. Investigator or not, Gibbs knew his guy. Detective Person was a big-mouthed moron, and Gibbs trusted his people without question.

So...McGee, witness.

Better. Still one too many roles for one of his team to play in an investigation, but Gibbs could work with it.

"Okay," he said, as much to McGee as to himself. He tried not to notice McGee flinch at just the sound of his voice. "The second Vance finds out you're this close to a murder he's gonna try to jerk us off this case. I don't want to make that easy for him, so I need you out of here and back at the Navy Yard, ready to make a full statement when we come in. Got me, McGee?"

McGee looked up at him, the smallest line furrowing his brow.

Gibbs nodded at him to get up. "Get out of those clothes – we'll bag 'em for processing. Get yourself cleaned up."

McGee stood, looking more like an automatic response to Gibbs' orders than any conscious choice on his part. He looked down at himself as if just noticing the blood, as if he hadn't been feeling it staining his hands however long he'd been sitting in that room.

Shit. Sitting in that room being shadowed by a LEO taking orders from that fucking bastard Person. It was a good damned thing Gibbs didn't know the whole story while Person was shooting his mouth off about fags and Martha Stewart.

He flashed a quick, tight smile at McGee. "Go on, Tim. Get dressed."

He turned and headed for the door, already trying to think of arguments for when Vance tried to take this crime from him.

"Boss..."

He stopped in the doorway, looked back.

Tim stood there, his hands tense at his sides, green eyes stark and too-bright on Gibbs. "React."

Gibbs frowned. "What?"

Tim gestured, sharp and uneven. A vague gesture at the room around him, the apartment, maybe. "Just...react. I have to know...where I stand." He swallowed, pale, the dark smears of brick red on his shirt and up his arms standing out all the more. "Please. I can't deal with..."

Gibbs knew that lost look in McGee's eyes, and it ached somewhere deep down. He'd seen in in mirrors for years after putting Shannon and Kelly in their graves.

But Gibbs wasn't there to sympathize or share anyone's pain. He was there to do a job, and there to be a leader for one of his people.

"You fill out the right forms at the Yard when you moved in here from your old place?" he asked. "All that change of address protocol?"

McGee frowned but nodded. Still braced where he stood, like there was a blow aimed for his spine that he knew he wouldn't see coming.

"Guess you didn't break any rules, then." Gibbs shrugged. "We don't have all day, Tim. Get dressed and get out of here." He met McGee's eyes, deliberate in his words. "Vance isn't gonna let you near this case no matter how loud I yell, but we can see to it that the rest of your team stays in the middle."

McGee understood, of course. Caught the 'your team', the present tense. Caught that he wasn't going anywhere, and that his team wasn't leaving him behind. Just in case those were the reactions he was worrying about.

"Okay." McGee nodded to himself, letting out a shaky breath, and looked around him as if trying to place his bearings. "Okay."

It was practically visible watching the guy's brain firing into gear. It was only temporary, Gibbs had no doubt, but one less dread seemed to be enough to allow McGee to function long enough to obey Gibbs' orders.

It was a start, though. Not much of one, and the start of _what _Gibbs wasn't sure and didn't really want to think about. But it was start.

* * *

Tony had no idea how long Ziva was in the room before he finally noticed the cup she was holding out and the raised eyebrows she was looking down at him under.

He grimaced, blinking dry eyes and taking the steaming coffee cup. "Thanks."

Ziva didn't bother answering. She looked at the glass in front of them, her own cup forgotten in her hand. "I'm surprised you're not in there with him."

Tony looked over, but McGee hadn't moved from where he sat. Hadn't moved for the twenty minutes Tony had been staring at him through the one-way glass.

"Gibbs didn't ask me to babysit, and I'm not about to go into an interrogation room without permission." He shrugged, looking down at his coffee.

"Tony." Ziva slapped his arm when he didn't answer her soon enough. "Tony, it's McGee. He's hardly a suspect. Gibbs isn't going to interrogate him." She frowned, blinking back at the glass. "Is he?"

Tony frowned. "He's not McGee right now, he's the only thing like a witness we've got in a murder investigation."

But no, he was more than that. He was involved. He was Victim's Partner, or Significant Other, or however the hell the reports would read.

When Tony first walked into the bedroom of that ritzy place and saw Tim there, his instant, sincere reaction was that Person was an idiot who had gotten the whole situation ass-backwards. This wasn't some sobbing boyfriend, this was McGee. Roommate, maybe. Pal. Shaken up because he hadn't expected to see a dead body, and Nathan Bryar had died _hard_.

Not what Person thought, not at al.

But Tony for all his boneheaded hope about maintaining the status quo realized pretty fast that Person wasn't wrong at all.

One bedroom apartment, after all, and in itself that left little room for doubt.

One bedroom apartment, Tim's books and computer parts and games and Nerd Accessories all intermingled with unfamiliar pictures of a stranger's family, and a stranger's clothes, and a stranger's life.

There was a small loft in the place, a narrow staircase leading to a small room that Tony had hoped as he climbed was maybe bedroom number two.

Instead he saw Tim's typewriter, his desk. His paper shredder and a thin pile of neatly-stacked pages.

And even Tony couldn't deny it then.

If Tim's writing was there, then that was Tim's home. Bryar's home, and Tim's home. Their home, together.

Tim wasn't a pal of Bryar's who'd gotten a little too shaken up at an unexpected corpse. He was Gay Boyfriend of Gay Victim.

And hell if Tony knew what the hell that actually _made _him, at least where the case was concerned. Not McGee, not friend and partner and team computer nerd and _uninvolved_, like he usually was. But what?

Ziva didn't realize. She'd only arrived at the scene as Tony was bringing McGee down to the car to come back to the Yard. She _knew_, she'd been told, but she didn't know. She didn't hear that asshole cop's dumb jokes. She knew it was McGee, _then_ she knew it was gay Marine murdered in his home.

"Tony."

He sighed and dragged his eyes back to her, since she got punchy when she was ignored.

But her eyes nearly made him look away – narrowed and dark and looking at him as if he were the suspect waiting to be questioned.

He frowned at her then looked back at McGee's slumped shoulders through the glass. "What's Mossad's position on gay officers?"

"Are we seriously having this conversation right _now_?" Ziva tapped on the glass – quietly, Tim didn't seem to notice. "I know you are not homophobic, Tony. Why aren't you in there telling McGee stupid jokes and distracting him?"

Tony sipped his coffee and studied McGee's slumped shoulders, and wondered that himself. Why wasn't he in there?

Ziva heaved an annoyed sigh when he didn't answer. She turned, heading towards the door.

Tony didn't look away from McGee, from the way he sat so still, waiting. Staring at the table like he hadn't seen it a thousand times before.

He didn't hear the door close behind him, but suddenly the door behind McGee opened and there Ziva was.

Tim looked back at her way too slowly – shock, maybe, Tony's mind supplied.

She went up to the table and stretched out the second cup of coffee she'd been carrying. "Something tells me you did not stop for breakfast on the way in."

McGee looked at her, searched her, for a moment. He reached out and took the cup. "Thanks," he said, his voice low.

Tony looked away from them, frowning to himself.

Why the hell wasn't he in there? Ziva was right: even if McGee was a suspect, even if he was the only suspect - hell, even if they all thought he actually might've killed the guy, which was ridiculous on so many levels – Tony still should have been in there.

That was his Probie. His friend. He had known Tim for years, trusted him to watch his back. Told him things – in passing, from time to time – that he'd never told anyone. Tim had pulled him off a ledge once. Shot at people to keep him safe. Worked his ass off to prove Tony innocent of a crime. And Tony had and would have done exacty the same for his partner.

Of course Tony wasn't homophobic. Tony didn't give a single solitary damn about sexual preferences. Hell, Tony might have had his own little experiments back in college. And since college. Now and then.

Maybe.

Why the hell was it so hard to talk himself into moving? All he had to do was stand up, take the walk to the interrogation room – a path he walked all the fucking time – and grin at his partner, make some idiot joke that would make Ziva slap his arm, and boom. Everything would be right with the world. They'd be a team, facing down Gibbs' questions and this case together, the way they did everything.

He didn't move.

By the time he focused on the room again, Ziva was gone. Tim's hands were wrapped around the coffee cup, but he was back in position staring at the table and not moving.

He looked up, once, after a while. Looked at the mirror with those sad puppy eyes and the paleness of real, legitimate shock on his face.

Tony looked back, safe in his anonymity behind the glass.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Well, it's been months and months and you guys are still reading and commenting, and I continue to be in a permanent state of flattered. I'm hoping to focus on this story more now - I'm juggling a couple others at the same time, but I've got a good sense of where this is going from here, which is a good thing. _

_I've bounced back and forth on how to handle the relationship angle. I've heard requests for both sides from readers - ones who like the idea of the coming slash, and ones who wish I'd keep everyone else straight and deal with the idea behind the story without going to happy gay places with everyone. And I've thought pretty seriously about both options. When it comes down to it, though, I'm a slash writer. I love dealing with people in all types of relationships, but I really like the slashy parts best of all. I hope you guys have enough faith in me to know I'm not going to do some half-assed Healing Cocks scenario. If you couldn't tell from Have to Drive, I think slash is better when you have to work for it. _

_I am willing to listen to futher arguments for either side of this little debate, of course. The story ain't writ yet. :-)_

_Thanks for everyone who keeps reading and reviewing and keeping this story constantly in my mind through the ridiculous gaps between chapters. And a mad shoutout to both _Jady_ and _Emerald1, _who were nice enough to let me know about a plagiarist who re-posted this story with a tacked-on ending. They were so quick to call the person out that I didn't even get to see the story for myself, it was already gone. Which was kinda sad - I sort of want to know how it ended. :-D Either way...thanks, you two. _

_Now. Story._

_

* * *

_

_Come see me the minute you're back in the office._

No signature, but it wasn't like Gibbs didn't know who it was from. He dropped the torn paper back on his desk and glanced upwards, but there was no one standing on the stairs or the watching from a flight up.

Gibbs ignored the blinking light on his phone and dropped his pack under the desk where it wouldn't immediately be seen. He glanced back upstairs, but turned without hesitation and went towards the elevator.

He had an agent in an interview room waiting to get questioned, and that was more important than talking to Vance.

Wasn't like he couldn't guess what Vance wanted to chat about, anyway. It just figured that the one time Gibbs wanted him to stay nice and uninformed he was already clued in to what was going on.

Abby would be getting the first boxes of evidence from the crime scene soon, with any luck, and hopefully Duck and Palmer would have Bryar down on their table before Gibbs was done with McGee. By the time Vance got to Gibbs to order him away his team would already be knee-deep in the case.

He went down the stairs instead of the elevator – not avoiding Vance, of course, just wanted the extra few seconds to get his thoughts together – but by the time he was headed down the corridor to the interview rooms he still didn't have as good a handle on what was coming than he usually did.

He had a few priorities in mind, at least: first and foremost, he had to find a way to prove that Bryar's murder had everything to do with Bryar himself. If he could face Vance with some evidence that McGee's proximity to the murder was absolute coincidence, he had a better chance of keeping the case.

As he approached the first interview room he noticed the dark crack in the door beside it – someone was in Observation. Frowning to himself, he went to that door first and pushed it open with a finger, peering inside.

Tony. Sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee and staring through the glass as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Gibbs pushed the door open wider, just enough to get Tony's attention.

Straightening fast, Tony flashed a too-easy smile. "Hey, boss. Just, uh...waiting for you."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, his frown not easing. He looked over at the glass, looked at the still, pale figure of Tim McGee sitting frozen at the interview table.

He looked back at Tony.

Tony grinned awkwardly. "You didn't tell me to babysit. I didn't know if you'd want me in there or..." He trailed off, which was just as well.

More than one person in his life had commented on Gibbs' tendency towards silence. Tony called him a functional mute. Pick an ex-wife, they'd bitched him out for never wanting to talk. Strong, silent type, he was referred to as by more than one smirking face.

But it wasn't like Gibbs had some fetish for silence. He simply found it a more efficient way to communicate.

Especially in moments like that one, where he only had to meet Tony's eyes and tilt his head a bit and that was all it took to communicate, loud and clear, that he knew Tony was full of shit and Gibbs would be getting back to him about it later.

Tony's grin faded.

Gibbs shook his head and pushed back out of the room, heading next door.

Wasn't a good thing, Tony leaving McGee alone. Tony sitting in silence staring at him through glass like he was some kind of suspect. That wasn't the kind of guy Tony was, and it wasn't the type of team Gibbs had built.

He didn't think much about Tony could surprise him anymore, but if it actually turned out that Tony was homophobic, willing to treat his own partner like a stranger because of who that partner was shacked up with, Gibbs was going to have to reassess his senior agent.

Gibbs wasn't some kind of bleeding heart. He wasn't particularly liberal in a lot of ways. Wasn't particularly conservative, either - he just didn't care much for social issues period. He was all for live-and-let-live.

But a team didn't turn on each other. That - the team, the partnership, the seven years spent having each others' six - that was stronger than any kind of prejudice. And if it wasn't stronger, something was seriously wrong.

He moved into the interview room, leaving his thoughts out in the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

After a short but too-long pause, McGee looked over. He tensed as he saw Gibbs. "Hey, boss," he said quietly.

"McGee." Gibbs moved around the table and slipped into the waiting chair. He spotted the coffee cup sitting by McGee's arm and almost let himself smile a little when he saw the familiar name of the coffee shop on the side of the cup.

Good. Meant he didn't have to wonder about Ziva the way he was suddenly wondering about Tony.

He sat back in his chair and studied McGee. "Tell me about Nathan Bryar."

McGee reached for the cup, dragging it close to his chest and wrapping both hands around it. His throat worked. "What...um. What do you...?"

"Come on, McGee, you've sat through a thousand of these interviews before. You know the kind of details I need."

McGee frowned at his cup, but drew in a slow breath and raised his eyes up to meet Gibbs' gaze. "Right. Um. He's..." He cleared his throat, shaking his head a little. "All I can think of are the things I don't want you to know."

Gibbs smiled faintly when he saw the blush those words caused. It was oddly easy to lean in and soften his voice a little as he talked McGee through it. "Let's start with the basics. He's a Marine, or was, right?"

"Right." McGee jumped on the direct question fast. "He was discharged a little over a year ago."

"After the injury?"

"No." He flashed a hard little smile that didn't seem to belong on his face, not meeting Gibbs's eyes. "He was still in recovery, on the slow track to being discharged for his injuries when he was..." His eyes flickered. "Someone at the VA in DC reported him when an old...boyfriend..." He couldn't seem to look at Gibbs. "Ended up being dishonorably discharged."

Gibbs' eyebrows raised. "DADT?"

McGee nodded. "Apparently it's worth more than losing normal use of a leg." He stared at his coffee cup. "His CO could've gone either way, at least that's what Nate said. He could've let it lie since he was going to be discharged anyway. But...Nate..."

Gibbs sat back, waited.

McGee looked up for the briefest moment. His eyes landed on Gibbs, then shifted to the mirror behind Gibbs, and then moved right back down to that coffee cup. "Nate said his CO was just homophobic, but Nate had a way of rubbing authority wrong."

"Oh yeah?"

McGee gave the thinnest ghost of a smile. "He's...he's the kid of guy who knows exactly what the consequences are but still invites his boyfriend to visit him at the VA and doesn't bother pretending he's a cousin or something. And he's still genuinely outraged when those consequences land."

Gibbs nodded. He knew the type. Dinozzo, when he first showed up on Gibbs' team, had been that type. "Okay. Discharged a year ago. What's he been doing since?"

"Living off disability." McGee shrugged.

"Got any enemies? Anyone who'd want to hurt him?"

"A list full," McGee answered without a pause.

Gibbs studied him, interested in that easy response.

McGee looked up after a moment. "He was pissed about being discharged the way he was. He started campaigning hard against Don't Ask Don't Tell. Gave a few national interviews right after it happened, and now he runs a website for a national protest group."

"Made him pretty unpopular with some folks," Gibbs guessed.

McGee snorted softly. He bent his eyes back to that cup, shaking his head. "I could print out a folder a few inches thick full of emails from patriotic Americans and all the ways they wished Nate dead for speaking up for himself."

"Anything serious?" Gibbs kept his gaze steady when McGee looked up. "You know the difference between the usual nuts and the credible threats."

McGee frowned.

The silence stretched on, longer than Gibbs would have thought. McGee was still pale, still looked to be in shock. But his brain was usually quicker than that, shock or no shock.

Gibbs regarded the youngest on his team. It wasn't confusion on his face, wasn't anything particularly thoughtful. He wasn't searching for an answer, he just didn't speak whatever that answer was.

"Okay, we'll come back to that. Outside of his protests, is there anyone else you can think of who might want to hurt him?"

"No. No one that I can think of. Most people...they either like Nate or hate him. He's one of those people, you know? But outside of the website and the protests he doesn't really know a lot of people. His family is out west, his friends are mostly casual acquaintances. He's not worth a lot of money."

"Okay, so tell me who did this."

McGee looked up too fast, giving himself away again.

One thing Gibbs had always appreciated about McGee was his sense of honesty. Even then, even having to ask about this whole secret life McGee had kept hidden, there was something inherently honest about the kid.

Must've been pretty damned hard staying so private. Especially considering how nosy some of his teammates could be.

Gibbs saw the answer in those innocent green eyes even as he spoke. "You have some idea, at least a pretty strong theory. So speak up."

McGee studied him. For the first time since Gibbs sat down his gaze stayed steady – he didn't look away or distract himself with the coffee or anything else.

After a moment Gibbs realized that McGee wasn't hesitating to speak up, he was genuinely searching Gibbs for something. Like a lost kid, Gibbs thought suddenly and then couldn't shake the image, who was checking a stranger for a badge before admitting that he was lost.

Wasn't too hard to figure out what he was looking for. Gibbs had his share of secrets, and he knew first hand how complicated it could be when one of those secrets came to light. He wasn't as obvious about it as someone like McGee, of course, but he had found himself studying people in his own life, wondering how their opinions towards him might have changed.

He returned McGee's gaze easily. Wasn't hard to look at the kid as if nothing had changed, especially since nothing really had changed.

McGee's eyes dropped after a minute. "I heard you, you know."

"Mm?"

"Back at the apartment." McGee's voice was quiet. "I sat there waiting, knowing you would walk back there and see me and everything would..." He shook his head. "But I heard what you said to that cop. About Nate."

Gibbs smiled grimly. Wasn't his finest hour, maybe – slamming a cop against a wall and bitching at him about the priority that someone's sexual preference ought to have wasn't the most professional behavior in the world.

But he meant it at the time, and he didn't regret it in hindsight.

"Thanks." He really didn't regret it right then, when McGee looked up with a sad ghost of a smile. "For saying it, and meaning it, even without knowing I was there."

Gibbs shrugged. "Truth is truth, regardless of the audience."

McGee sat back, slipping his hands from the coffee cup to the edge of the table. He drew in a breath. "I don't know who killed Nate," he said suddenly, his voice stronger than it had been all day. "But...whoever it is..." He drew in a breath. "They've killed before."

Gibbs frowned. "Opinion?"

McGee shook his head. "Research. They've killed at least four other men."

Gibbs shoulders went back as he straightened in his chair. He studied McGee with sudden sharpness. How the hell did he do research on killers who only struck a few hours ago?

But McGee wasn't done surprising him. "And they aren't done yet. In fact..." He flashed another small smile, as if somehow he could find something amusing in his next words. "There's a really good chance that I'm next on their list."

Before Gibbs could even react to that, the tinny tone of his cell phone rang out.

* * *

He should have left with Gibbs. He should have stood up, pushed open the damned door, and met Gibbs in the hallway to go upstairs and raise holy hell together. Gibbs was temperamental enough when he got called away from an interview, but from what Tony could hear of one side of the conversation through Gibbs' phone, Vance wasn't screwing around.

Hell, even just witnessing those two bulls locking horns was worth a trip upstairs.

But he didn't move.

He was shocked. Sure he was. Little doe-eyed Timmy McGee had basically confessed to knowing about and following the cases of four different murder victims that he hadn't told Gibbs about.

McGee didn't get to say much before Gibbs was irritated enough to actually answer his phone. He didn't say why he didn't speak up to Gibbs, or how he knew that the murders were all connected and that Nathan Bryar was killed by the same people.

Those were the things Gibbs would care about.

Tony? All he could think, looking through the glass at his little Probie, was that he apparently didn't know Tim McGee at all. Not even a little bit.

Was that his problem? Was that why seeing McGee in that bedroom covered in another man's blood had shaken him up so badly that he hadn't gotten a grip yet? Was he overreacting to the idea that Tim had lied about this huge part of his life?

Was it the girls Tim had been interested in – or faked interest in – through the years? How many were lies told to fit in? How much more had Tim been lying about?

He covered up a bestselling novel, an apparently serious relationship with a fucking _guy_, and now he was hiding a whole series of murders for God only knew what reason.

Tony thought he knew Tim. He thought he had a good grip on his naïve, innocent, stammering little Probie.

He thought Tim was practically incapable of lying.

He sighed to himself, watching Tim through the glass as his more rational side argued that he really had to get off his ass and get upstairs. There was a murder to solve – though by the sound of Vance's call summoning Gibbs it might not be their case for long – and really, sitting there watching the guy was just creepy when he didn't have a reason for it.

He really needed to get up. Just stop bitching about things in his own head, and get in there and check on his Probie, or get upstairs and help Gibbs fight for this murder.

He was almost there, just about ready to shake himself of his strange disconnected feeling and get off his ass to go work, when the door behind McGee opened again and a pale and unhappy Abby Sciuto stormed into the interview room.

* * *

Four men dead.

Gibbs couldn't shake that thought as he stormed up the stairwell and shoved through the door into the MCRT offices. He took the stairs leading up to Vance's office two at a time, all the time focusing only on that one thing.

Four men, dead. Five now, if Bryar was really killed by the same people. And whoever it was wasn't done yet.

Gibbs had a hell of a lot of sympathy for what McGee was going through after that morning, but some things were bigger than sympathy. Some things were more important than closets.

Vance was in the outer office with his secretary when Gibbs strode in, and without a word or a second look at Gibbs the director turned on his heel and moved through the door to the inner office.

Gibbs followed.

Given how loud Vance had been on the phone, it was something of a surprise when he moved back behind his desk and sat down, and simply glared up at Gibbs for a long moment without speaking.

Gibbs stood practically at attention, eyes on Vance but his thoughts back in the interview room, where he was sure as hell going back to when this ended.

Five men dead. What could McGee possibly say to justify staying silent about that?

Vance spoke finally, his voice low and flat. "You and your priorities give me migraines, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked back at him, impassive.

"You put your people above the interests of NCIS. You always have."

Gibbs didn't bother arguing the point – he was actually pretty proud of that fact.

Vance shook his head, leaning in to grab a toothpick from the cup that sat at his desk. "Pisses me off, you know that? You and your Marine bullshit, and me having to come in after you and play the bureaucratic bastard."

Still didn't require an answer. Gibbs sure as hell didn't force Vance into the Director position, he wasn't about to apologize for the duties involved.

"Tell me why you should keep this case."

That did surprise Gibbs. He studied Vance for a moment, wondering if this was a legitimate question or if Vance was going to order them away no matter what Gibbs said.

Vance waited, eyebrows raised. He gestured after a moment, as Gibbs failed to speak. "I spend a good hour or two a day cleaning up your messes. Half the time SecNav calls me, it's because of some guideline you and your people have broken, or some higher-ups you've pissed off. So you do the heavy lifting this time, Gibbs – tell me what to say when I'm asked why we're breaking about a dozen rules to let you work on this case."

Gibbs met his eyes. "It doesn't have anything to do with McGee."

"You're certain of that."

He nodded, sharp. "This wasn't a warning to my agent, or a mistaken hit meant for McGee. It's got nothing to do with him. It's coincidence he was there when it happened."

"Coincidence." Vance raised a single eyebrow, sitting back in his chair and working at the toothpick clenched in his mouth. "I checked with HR. He lives there, he didn't just happen to wander in one evening."

"And we're gonna have to deal with that," Gibbs acknowledged. "I'm not saying McGee isn't going to be part of it, I'm saying that Bryar was killed because of Bryar, not McGee." Gibbs hesitated, debating going on to tell Vance about other apparently linked murders.

But no. He needed to hash that out with McGee first.

Vance studied him. "If that changes, Gibbs. If you find out more than you know now..."

Gibbs met his eyes. "I won't fight giving the case to another team."

"Fine. I want updates. Daily, you hear me?"

Gibbs relaxed the slightest bit. "I hear you." He turned and headed for the door.

"McGee has no part of this."

Gibbs reached for the knob, but hesitated. He glanced back at Vance.

"He's due some vacation time. See that he takes it." Vance met his eyes, grim. "Either that or I'll reassign his ass until this investigation is wrapped up. Your choice."

Gibbs frowned.

* * *

"Ziva wasn't wrong."

Tony couldn't help but watch as Abby faced McGee down through the glass of the interview room. It was a little sickening, like watching a car accident in progress, but his determination to get up and get on with his job had frozen as fast as it appeared.

Tim just slumped where he sat, his hands drawn down to his lap and his pale face bent.

Abby shut the door slowly behind her and moved in, until Tony couldn't see her pale, unhappy face anymore. "I just assumed she had to be wrong. Some metaphor she misunderstood, some English idiom she doesn't...but she's right. Isn't she?"

Tim drew in a breath. "Right about what?" he asked, though his voice was dull and inflectionless as he asked the question he already knew the answer to.

"You know about what," Abby said back instantly. "About who the latest guest on Ducky's table is."

Tim shook his head, but Tony didn't think it was denial of her words.

He looked tired. Defeated. When he didn't answer her Tony had the feeling it was because he simply didn't have the energy to summon the words.

That right there, more than anything, that made Tony's chest twist all of the sudden. He frowned over Abby's shoulder, studying the slump in McGee's shoulders and the misery etched all over his face.

Tony wondered, for the first time, if McGee had actually loved this guy.

Abby didn't sit, but she leaned in and lay her palms on the table. "You never told me," she said slowly.

Tim looked up then, his eyes bright. He studied her, silent but looking almost desperate.

Tony couldn't see what was in her face, but her voice didn't seem particularly warm.

"About any of it," she went on. "You didn't tell me you moved. You didn't tell me you..." She drew in a breath. "Is it...what? Are you...?"

Tim swallowed. "What?" His voice was a creak.

"You _know _what!" Abby pushed off the table and folded her arms, her shoulders tight as she stared at Tim as if he really were a suspect and she was playing Gibbs' role. "Did you lie to me?"

"When?"

"_Ever!_ Is...was everything we...come on_, _Timmy, stop making me do everything here!" She started pacing suddenly, whirling into motion. "I don't want to..I'm not some kind of _creep_, Tim. I'm not prejudiced. I'm like the least prejudiced person in the universe. But come _on!_"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Tell me you're not gay. Tell me I wasn't just some beard for you so you could fit in with your new agent buddies upstairs."

McGee winced. He watched her moving but only for a minute. His eyes went behind her to the mirror, though he didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.

"It's more complicated than that," he said finally, quiet after her increasingly loud words.

"No, McGee, it's not complicated at all. It's simple – either you're gay and you were lying to me from the first day we met, or you're bisexual and you hid it from me the whole time we were together. Or you're straight and this guy was just..." She threw her hands in the air, halting her pace on the far side of the table, and turning on her heel to face him. "So which one is it?"

"I'm...just..." McGee shook his head, eyes on the table again. "Abby, I'm sorry. I just..."

"What? Come on, Tim."

He hesitated, drawing in a breath. "I was always one thing," he said to his coffee cup, "and then suddenly I met someone who...made me something else. But not...I think just that one person. I think I just...it's not a gender thing. I just met someone I could love without that even mattering."

God, it was horrible listening to him talk. The words pushed their way out like ground glass, and his hands were starting to shake again as badly as they had when Tony first saw him that morning.

Tony's chest gave another aching twist, and he frowned at his Probie through the glass.

This guy was barely cold in Ducky's locker. Just hours ago McGee had woke up thinking it was just another day, and found the person he was living with mutilated and murdered.

Maybe Tony felt betrayed in some way, deceived. But Jesus, what was more important?

He stood up suddenly.

"-telling me that this one guy was just so amazing that he turned you gay." Abby couldn't have sounded less convinced. "I'm all for not being confined by labels, Tim, but-"

"I wasn't talking about Nate," McGee answered.

Tony approached the glass, frowning at McGee.

Abby hesitated. "What?"

"I never dated a woman until I met you. I never wanted to." Tim stared at the table, unnaturally still. "And the few I've dated since were...wishful thinking. I thought if I could love you as much as I did, maybe I could find another woman who..." He looked up, his eyes pale green and glittering in the dim interview room lighting. "He didn't change me into something different, Abs. You did."

She stared at him for a long moment, mouth opening and closing again.

"I didn't lie to you about us. I didn't even lie about past relationships, except to change a few pronouns."

"If that's true why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because." Tim drew in a breath, still meeting her eyes though it seemed like it took some effort. "For the first time in my life I was _normal_. And you...yeah, out of everyone in the universe you probably would have accepted me for what I was, but come on. You were buckling under my neediness back when I was just calling you every night. What would you have done if I told you that I was counting on you to make me the son my dad always wished he'd had?"

Abby shook her head, but didn't answer. Her shoulders slumped a little, the anger seeming to drain out at least a little bit.

Tony was so intent studying her, and studying the pale but steady look on McGee's face, that he missed the sound of the door opening behind him.

"Is this _fun _for you, or what?" Gibbs' voice made him jump.

Tony wheeled around. He hesitated, but realized suddenly that yeah, what he was standing there watching was a really fucking private moment that neither of the people in the next room would have wanted him around for.

Luckily even as he realized that he realized that he was done watching. He was done being frozen, and it was thanks to Abby.

He moved suddenly, walking past Gibbs without answering. He headed for the next door over.

"DiNozzo."

He only glanced back at Gibbs, not stopping. "I know I'm a little slow sometimes, boss. But I usually catch up."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, but followed Tony without trying to stop him.

Tony pushed the door to the interview room open.

McGee's face swung around to him, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Tony there. Wariness made his shoulders stiffen.

Tony noticed that but looked around for Abby without comment. She was still standing at the end of the table, still frowning with betrayal even if her anger had softened.

Tony met her eyes and pointed to the door. "Get out."

Her eyes opened wide. "What?"

"Out." He didn't even try for tact. "Someone's dead, Abs. Hours ago, not even fucking cold yet. This isn't the time or the place for whatever it is you're here to say."

She gaped at him, looking suddenly over his shoulder as Gibbs' softer footsteps brought him in behind Tony.

Gibbs didn't speak, but whatever she saw on his face made her face seem to lose even more color.

She looked over at McGee, and maybe for the first time she actually _saw _him there, pale and shaking with pain etched in his face.

She drew in a breath. "Timmy, I-"

"Abby." Gibbs' voice was quiet. "Go on, you've got evidence waiting."

McGee didn't look up at anyone, and after just a moment Abby tensed and marched past Tony and Gibbs and out the door to the interview room.

She'd be back, Tony knew. Not back down to interview, maybe, but she would be back to talk to McGee sometime before the day was out. Abby had a temper that flared up extra-hot when she thought someone was deceiving her in some way. But she was also a truly kind person, and she usually regretted it when she let her temper flare up.

And yeah, someone was dead. Someone who, like it or not, was really close to McGee. If bitching him out for going out with some guy was allowed at all, it sure as hell wasn't allowed this soon.

Just like standing back and feeling betrayed and trying to hold McGee at a distance because of his own stupid uncomfortable feelings wasn't allowed either.

Tony moved to the table as Gibbs shut the door after Abby. He slipped one of the spare chairs over to the table right beside McGee and sat down, leaning back, trying for casual. He'd have to talk to McGee a little later, to hash out all the crap in his head that needed sorting out. But for now...

For now he was still Tim's partner, and he still had his back. It took him too damned long to remember that, but like he told Gibbs, he just had to catch up. Just had to stop being slow.

McGee looked at him sideways, the tension still in his shoulders.

Tony flashed a grin, leaning over to nudge his arm just to solidify in Tim's head that Tony was there beside him. Not facing him down, but at his side.

Tim relaxed a little, but his brow didn't unknit from its wary furrow.

Gibbs took his seat across from McGee again. He looked across at Tim and Tony, and maybe it was wishful thinking but Tony thought he almost saw something approving in his boss's face.

But if he did it was there and gone in a flash, and his gravity returned an instant later.

"Okay, Tim. Start talking."


End file.
